


What a Shame the Poor Groom's Bride is a Whore

by Slimstylinson



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Bad Decisions, Broken Engagement, Broken Promises, Cheating, Childhood Friends, F/M, Fluff, Original Character(s), Secret Affair, Smut, Sneaking Around, Wedding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-21 14:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15559692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slimstylinson/pseuds/Slimstylinson
Summary: they made a pact and now it's been brokenorin which ex childhood bestfriends made a promise but now it's up to them to fulfill it





	1. Say Yes to the Dress

White, everything is white. Who decided that a plain ass color should represent love and coming together? If I had it my way my dress would be pink, or maybe black so everyone would be appalled. Instead, I’m having the ribbons of a corset tightened around my stomach as I try on the 18th dress. It’s so tight I can barely breathe, and the ugly poof the starts around my ankle tells me instantly it’s not the one. I would like to just put this one back in the bag, but my mom picked it out and she would chew me out if she found out I didn’t even give it a chance. One last pull, and i’m convinced I might pass out.

 

Instead, I shuffle out to the room where some family I don’t even know and my bridesmaids are. Already, I can tell by the way that my mother’s face lights up that she’s gonna try and convince me that this is the one. I step onto the round platform which is slightly sticky because my feet are sweating and suddenly I need to throw up.

 

The dress could quite possibly be the ugliest thing I have ever seen. The shoulders puff up awkwardly, my boobs are almost squeezing out the top because the corset, and the mermaid style ends in a terrible tulle bush.

 

“This is it! That’s the one Kayla!” Oh god, this is gonna be a long day.

 

-

 

The grass is itchy on my legs and Brendon’s elbow is digging into me. “Your 15th birthday is in two days Mack!” He says and although he’s right, I completely forgot myself. I smile and nod my head staring at the clouds. He’s staring at me expecting me to say something.

 

“What about it B? I ask and he gives me a look like I’m supposed to know what he is gonna say.

 

“Well what do you want silly?” Brendon nudges me and I shrug. I don’t know.

 

“A boyfriend,” I huff and Brendon rolls his eyes. “You don’t need one of those when you have me!” He exclaims and rolls back over onto the grass.

 

“Seriously! 15 whole years on this earth and I’ve never had a boyfriend!” I’m yelling now and I’ve probably gained some kids attention.

 

“Why does it matter?” Brendon asks, “the lonely moments just get lonelier the longer you’re in love.”

 

“With my luck I’ll never even get married,” I cry and throw my hands up. Brendon interlocks his pinky with mine.

 

“For your birthday I say we make the pact that at age 30 we will get married, no matter what.” He says, keeping his pinky attached to mine.

 

“B that’s ridiculous!” I say, “what if we have already found someone we love?”

 

“Well I hope we’ll remember this pact, and I sure as hell hope we remember each other.”

-

Mackayla Terg + Jackson Keyten

 

Invite you to celebrate their marriage

Saturday,                     Rewton Alliance

October 13                          Church

2018                              at 2pm in the

                                         afternoon

              Reception to follow

                      RSVP at

        www.tergandkeyten2018.org

  


The invitation is black, with gold writing and it’s bumpy underneath my fingertips. Jackson’s sister Marie is sat next to me, sealing the envelopes with a wax stamp. I hand her the last envelope out of 200. Jack wanted to have a larger wedding, inviting all his family and friends and I simply wanted close relatives and friends. We compromised with each other to do 200 people, of which 120 came from Jackson.

 

The envelope that is being sealed has the name Brendon Urie written in calligraphy and suddenly I can’t breathe. My chest is constricting me and my hands are shaking. I wish I could forget, forget what we said. What we promised, but I can’t and I have this gut feeling that as soon as he receives this envelope he won’t have forgotten either.

 

I haven’t seen him in 10 years, well I have seen him. In rolling stone articles and on my twitter, but the last time I saw him he was working on his second album. He had an ugly bowl cut but he could sing, man could he sing. It was at some album party which I felt absolutely awkward at. Brendon would barely look at me and the red solo cup in my hand was barely helping.

 

I’m no idiot, I know what he looks like now. I have to say he has aged quite finely, and I know how successful he is. A day doesn’t pass where I don’t think of him, even though I try not to.

 

I miss him, my best friend, although I don’t know if he shares that title anymore. We didn’t have a falling out or anything, we simply grew apart as high school advanced. I would see him walking the hallways with his new friends who would later become his band. Awkward eye contact and brushes in school eventually became photoshoot pictures on my tv and music videos.

 

The diamond engagement ring on my hand was becoming heavy and I could only imagine what would have happened if we stayed best friends. Perhaps I’d have his name on the invitation next to mine, Terg + Urie. Perhaps, we’d already be married. Or Perhaps, nothing would have happened and we’d still be best friends.

 

I’d like not to dwell on the what ifs, but a part of me will always regret leaving him in the middle of junior year.


	2. Just a White Blood Cell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yall uhhhh
> 
>  
> 
> i hope ur enjoying this  
> we got some angst and some softness in this one 
> 
> thanks
> 
> libby

It’s been a week since the invitations got sent out. I’m sitting a cafe, quaint and small, by myself drinking a Chai tea. Jack and I need to work on cake tasting, we have an appointment set up at some local bakery in the next week. I already know that we are going to disagree on the flavor of cake. I would prefer a red velvet cake with a white cream cheese frosting but Jack is going to want a dark chocolate ganache or something.

 

Everytime someone mentions the wedding, I can’t help but wonder if it would be different with Brendon. His name sits in the back of my mind like a beating drum, and with each pound I remember that day before my 15th birthday. I wonder sometimes if he remembers too. Actually, I wonder a lot if he thinks about his pinky intertwined with mine as we laid in the itchy grass.

 

Brendon’s favorite cake is red velvet also, every birthday we both had included a red velvet sheet cake. Not very many of our friends enjoyed it, but we did it for each other because we thought it would be us against the world forever. Key word, thought.

 

My Chai has ice melting in it and i’m twisting my diamond ring around my finger. I can feel the stare of someone looking at me, though I assume it is my anxiety kicking up again and continue to scroll through pinterest trying to find slivers of new wedding ideas. I’m scrolling, sipping, twisting, repeat, and then suddenly someone is standing in front of my table.

 

An ivory hand rests against the black metal of the chair and it has several rings on it. Like I said, I’m no idiot and I know what I’ve seen on twitter about teenage girls saying “finger me with your rings on!”. Which I don’t necessarily disagree with, but I know who this is standing in front of me and once again the air is too hot and my own ring is itching.

 

Someone has lit the room on fire, it’s so hot. Why is it so hot? There is a burning coal in my stomach and the Chai tea suddenly looks very unappealing. I wish I could spontaneously combust right now, in this moment. Maybe if I run very fast to the door he’ll never see me.

 

“Mack?” Nope, abort mission abort mission.

 

So there he is, Brendon Boyd Urie, in all his delicious glory. Wearing some ripped ass skinny jeans and a leather jacket. Who does he think he is? He doesn’t just get to show up in my life 10 years later looking all fine like this!

 

No one has called me ‘Mack’ in, huh, 10 years.

 

So just like a normal person, I quickly collect my belongings and make a run for the door. Maybe not a normal person, maybe like an idiot who just ran away from the man she promised to marry 15 years ago. Yep, definitely the latter.

 

My face is wet, I didn’t know it was supposed to rain today, but as I look up to the sky I see the sun is shining bright and there is no cloud in the sky. Oh?

 

I’m speed walking through crowds and I can hear him. His rough voice calling after me. Now i’m running like i’m barefoot on hot coals but the sidewalk is so crowded I can’t move fast enough. He’s catching up to me and speaking to him is inevitable.

 

Being in shape would’ve been key in this situation, but I haven’t started my wedding workouts yet so i’m running out of breath. I stop at the corner and i’m breathing so hard I can barely hear his footsteps approaching. I can’t tell he’s right behind me until his hand is on my shoulder and i’m whipping around.

 

“Mack I-,” he breathes and he’s so beautiful. His hair is this messy yet neat poof on his head, and he has some sweat on him from chasing after me. He’s so different from 10 years ago, in a good way, and the pictures I see just don’t do him justice.

 

“Sorry do I know you?” Way to go Kayla, you fucking idiot.

 

His smile fades and his lips are these big pink features and I might be drooling. Except, I might have just fucked up everything.

 

“Mack… you’re joking right?” He’s reading my face the same way I probably was doing him. Now suddenly I’m so angry, I’m shaking.

 

“Yeah actually I am joking, Brendon. Except I shouldn’t recognize you after not seeing you for 10 fucking years, you asshole.” I’m yelling at him and people are probably gonna start looking. I’m waving my hands and his eyes are following them.

 

“What’s that?” He asks as his eyes are trained on my hands but it goes right over my head because i’m still fuming.

 

“What is what, Brendon? You can’t just show up-,” Now he’s cutting me off by grabbing my wrist and my skin is hot from the contact.

 

“Are you… Are you engaged?” He asks, staring into my eyes searching for the answer he’s wishing for.

 

He’s not going to get the answer he wants, “Yes.”

 

He takes some steps back, and I know where this is going. So, I guess the invitations didn’t get out yet. And suddenly we’re both 14 again, pinky promising.

 

“This isn’t how it was supposed to be, you promised! We promised!” He says and my face is wet, yet again. Oh, I’ve been crying.

 

“You left me! For 10 years! What was I supposed to do, wait for you?” I cry and some buff dude is coming up from behind Brendon.

 

“Brendon, dude, we gotta get back to the venue. The fans on twitter have already released your location.” Who is this guy? His bodyguard? Oh wait, probably. “Just go Brendon, forget this even happened. You’ll have a wedding invitation shortly, maybe you’ll make an appearance.” I say, wiping under my eyes and walking away.

 

I know he wants to come after me, but his bodyguard is pulling him the opposite way.

 

It’s safe to say, that timing is everything


End file.
